As the sun set, the moonlight illuminated the landscape.
On the ground, workers waved their hands. A signal beam cut through the misty air as they guided the B-52H bomber down the runway.
The deep hum of its engines rolled across the field, vibrating in the chest of anyone nearby.
The aircraft made a sharp right turn from the taxiway onto the runway.
From the cockpit, Bryan saw the dormitory buildings fade from view. The runway stretched ahead, disappearing into the shadows of the forest.
Lights blinked on the bomber—white, red, and green markers indicating its position.
The roar of the engines softened as a fuel truck approached.
Workers opened the access panels, and the hiss of pressurized nozzles broke the silence.
The smell of kerosene filled the air as fuel flowed into the tanks. Heat waves shimmered near the bomber’s belly.
Inside the cockpit, Bryan adjusted the flaps to midway.
He checked the fuel gauge: 50,000 pounds… 60,000… 70,000…
He exhaled slowly, his breath misting in the cool cabin air.
Outside, workers moved around the aircraft, their movements casting shadows.
Through his headset, Bryan heard ground control’s clipped, static-laden instructions.
Behind the B-52H, an F-16V sat ready, its missile systems armed.
Inside, Fransisco ran through his checklist, flipping switches and testing systems with precision.
The jet’s systems hummed as he began the startup sequence.
He secured his oxygen mask and checked the weapons systems. Everything was operational.
In the belly of the B-52H, the battle station hummed quietly.
Abhi leaned forward, eyes locked on the radar display. The spinning sweep revealed flight paths with cold precision.
A green blip marked the bomber, its movement steady and deliberate. Fransisco’s F-16V briefly flickered into view before vanishing into the radar’s blind spot.
Beside him, Dika adjusted the targeting pod camera. The crosshairs hovered over the black expanse outside, the faint glow of the screen reflecting off his focused face.
The battle station was quiet, but tension hung heavy, charged with the weight of imminent action.
Bryan’s voice came through the radio, calm yet laced with disbelief.
“Didn’t know you were a pilot.”
He said, his tone questioning.
Fransisco’s reply was curt.
“Yes.”
Miles away, resistance soldiers crouched low in the underbrush, hidden by the forest’s shadows.
Maxwell lay prone on a slight incline, his ORSIS T-5000 sniper rifle steady. Through the scope, the bridge came into sharp focus. Its cracked concrete shimmered faintly under the moonlight, the dormitory visible beyond. This was the target.
At 8 PM, The Architect would cross. She always did.
Maxwell’s finger rested on the trigger, his breathing even as he blended into the stillness.
“Strato One to ground forces, what’s your status? Over.”
Bryan’s voice crackled through Carina’s radio. She pressed it to her cheek, her tone measured but brimming with anticipation.
“Give me a minute.”
“Roger that.”
Bryan replied before the line went silent.
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Nearby, a group of rushers crouched behind a bush, its sparse leaves barely concealing their forms.
“Peter, move left. You’re too big!”
Joshua hissed, jabbing an elbow into him.
“Shut up! If you move, she’ll spot us!”
Oliver snapped, eyes fixed on the bridge.
“She’s just one person.”
Joshua muttered.
“How could she know we’re here?”
“Quiet and ready your shotgun!”
Peter growled.
The whispering devolved into quiet bickering. Their weapons glinted faintly in the moonlight, barrels poking through the foliage like quills on a restless hedgehog.
On top of the garage, Stan lay prone with a dart gun, its sights trained on the bridge. The tranquilizer dart was a custom payload, potent enough to drop anyone in seconds.
Below, Franklin sat in the driver’s seat of a black SUV, one hand gripping the ignition key while the other tapped rhythmically on the wheel. His foot hovered over the clutch, ready for a quick start.
In the bushes, the boys’ argument was cut short by Carina’s sharp whisper.
“Shut up! She’s here.”
The murmurs stopped instantly. Tension gripped the group as they held their breath, their eyes locked on the bridge.
A figure emerged at the far end. The Architect.
Her cloak dragged silently over the ground, blending into the shadows. Her hood hid her face except for strands of dark hair falling over her eyes.
On the incline, Maxwell steadied his rifle, his breathing slow and deliberate. Through the scope, she was perfectly framed. He fired without hesitation.
BANG!
The shot rang out, the bullet tearing through the night.
From the garage roof, Stan quickly adjusted his aim and squeezed the dart gun’s trigger. The tranquilizer dart shot out, trailing slightly behind the bullet.
The Architect moved with unnatural speed. Her blade flicked out, catching the bullet mid-flight. Sparks flew as the round ricocheted harmlessly into the darkness.
But she couldn’t stop the dart. It embedded in her left shoulder. She gasped as the sedative surged into her bloodstream. Gritting her teeth, she yanked the dart free, but it was already too late.
“Target hit!” Stan’s voice cracked through the comms.
The Architect staggered, her knees buckling as the drug took hold. She struggled to stay upright, but her body began to falter.
In the SUV, Franklin turned the key, and the engine roared to life. The headlights flared on, cutting through the darkness.
The vehicle jolted forward, tires screeching as he slammed the gas.
Stan leapt off the garage roof, landing in the backseat.
“Go, go, go!” he yelled.
Franklin didn’t need the order. He shifted gears and floored the accelerator, the speedometer climbing rapidly.
Inside the garage, Oliver sprinted to a battered pickup truck. He threw the door open, started the engine, and tore out in pursuit.
The Architect fought to stay conscious as the tranquilizer clouded her vision. Her legs wobbled, the ground beneath her shifting like quicksand.
Franklin bore down on her, the SUV gaining speed. His jaw clenched as he aimed directly at her.
With a deafening impact, the SUV struck. Her body hit the windshield before flipping over the roof and crashing to the asphalt.
Franklin pulled the handbrake and spun the wheel, the rear wheels screeched as the car spun 180 degrees to the back. Smoke curled from the tires as the vehicle stopped.
On the ground, The Architect lay motionless, her figure illuminated by the headlights.
Carina, watching from cover, pressed her transmitter to her mouth.
“Strato One, Viper One, the Architect is down. Take off now.”
Carina’s voice crackled through Briyan’s headset.
Without hesitation, Briyan shoved the throttle levers forward. The eight engines of the B-52H bomber roared to life, the thrust slamming the crew back into their seats as the massive plane barreled down the runway.
Dika and Abhi gripped the battle station table, their knuckles white as equipment rattled and papers scattered.
“Hold on!”
Briyan shouted over the intercom.
On the ground, Franklin shouted,
“Get in the car, now!”
He revved the SUV’s engine, the growl filling the night.
Peter hefted the Architect’s limp body, muscles straining as he tossed her into the backseat.
“Move it!” Carina snapped, climbing into the front. She chambered a round into her MK18 rifle and shot Franklin a fiery glare.
“Drive!”
Peter secured the Architect with quick knots, tightening them until she couldn’t move. He dropped into the seat beside her, breathing heavily.
Nearby, Oliver fired up the pickup truck. Ezra, Maxwell, and Joshua scrambled into the bed, weapons ready.
“Go, go!”
Ezra shouted as he hauled himself in.
Joshua was still climbing in when Oliver slammed the gas.
“Hey, wait—!”
Joshua’s protest was cut off as he was thrown flat against the bed.
Both vehicles tore down the road, engines roaring and dust rising in their wake.
In the cockpit, Briyan gritted his teeth as the runway blurred beneath the bomber. The forest loomed closer.
“Damn it, we’re out of runway!”
He barked, sweat dripping from his brow.
He slammed the throttles to max power, the engines screaming as the aircraft shuddered under the strain.
With seconds to spare, he yanked the yoke back and deployed full flaps. The bomber’s nose lifted, the rear wheels scraping the tarmac in a shower of sparks before the plane lurched into the air.
The tail struck the ground with a jolt, but the B-52H kept climbing.
“Come on, come on...”
Briyan muttered, his hands tight on the controls.
The trees loomed dangerously close, branches nearly grazing the undercarriage. At the last second, he banked left, the wings slicing through the air just above the treetops.
In the battle station, Dika and Abhi braced as the bomber jolted violently.
The aircraft finally broke free of the trees, climbing higher into open air. Briyan steadied the controls, his breaths heavy as he leveled the wings.
“Tail’s clear.”
Dika reported, his voice shaky.
Briyan didn’t respond, focusing on the climb.
The bomber soared higher, leaving the chaos behind.
Fransisco shoved the throttle lever of his F-16 forward, slamming it to its limit. The engines roared, blasting out orange flames from the afterburner that lit up the runway.
The sudden acceleration pinned him against the seat, his chest straining under the G-forces. Gripping the control stick, he steadied the aircraft as it surged forward.
Data flashed across the Heads-Up Display (HUD). The G-force indicator hit 2.3, holding steady as the jet screamed down the runway. Outside, the world blurred into streaks of light and shadow, the jet’s speed compressing everything into a single, urgent moment.
Meanwhile, Oliver yanked the wheel hard, sending the pickup truck careening down the stone steps. Each jolt rattled the passengers like loose cargo.
“Hold on!”
He shouted, gripping the wheel tightly as the truck’s suspension strained with every impact.
In the truck bed, Ezra and Maxwell clung to the sides, their rifles bouncing dangerously close to their faces.
Joshua, still half-seated, cursed loudly as he fought to steady himself.
“Did we really need to take the stairs?”
Maxwell yelled, his voice barely audible over the chaos.
“No time for smooth roads!”
Oliver shot back, dodging a toppled streetlamp. The tires screeched as he swerved.
Behind them, Franklin’s SUV weaved through the debris, its headlights cutting through the darkness like blades, keeping close in pursuit.
The Architect slumped weakly against the restraints, her head lolling with the bumps and jolts of the speeding SUV.
The convoy tore through the night, tires screeching and engines growling, but the thunder of jet engines overhead drowned it all out.
Above them, the F-16V streaked through the sky, its afterburner leaving a trail that briefly lit up the dark.